


Primary

by skellerbvvt



Series: Gasoline Family [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Asexual Character, Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skellerbvvt/pseuds/skellerbvvt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky told himself a lot of stories, but here Steve was deciding to turn that inside out. Let everyone in the universe wear the lie except for Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primary

The day it showed up, Bucky made Steve open it. Looked at it for a stretch and then tucked it into his coat. Not like he was gonna be surprised by the contents but... It’d be better if Steve told him.

“Looks like I got myself a use after all," Bucky said, keeping his tone light. When Steve folded up the letter without a goddamn word, Bucky added: “Can’t really complain. Won’t have to be any department store’s stock boy over Christmas.”

“I already got a letter,” Steve said. Pulled it out of his coat. “Let me know that my Dowry-Auxilliary was eligible for military service unless I had written proof of an intent to marry within the next six months.”

Bucky took the letter from Steve’s hand and read it over. “Nice of them to give you some warning."

Steve went over to the window.

Steve had never been effusive with praise. Didn't say a word about the money Bucky could bring in. When Bucky’d gotten them a cut of beef (because he’d spent an afternoon spackling the butcher’s walls) you didn’t find Steve petting his hair and calling him good. Steve wasn't much for any of the typical things omegas in movies cared about. Which, well. Omegas in movies were played by Auxiliaries, so it was all a load of muck.

(Sometime last year, Steve had thrown a trash can lid at the knees of a purse snatcher. He'd gotten the dame her purse back, of course. Made nice. And then taken the purse snatcher out to lunch because: “Well. She smelled hungry, Buck. People get desperate. You can’t get too fussed about that sort of thing.”

That same week he'd left good pay because:

“They were shorting wages Buck, what am I supposed to do? Sure I got good pay, because what? I smell good? So what? Doesn’t matter if a support works 60 hours a week and half starved. It’s not fair.”

“Steve, I got a memo you might’ve missed.” Bucky'd said, because it wasn't for him to mind if Steve lost work. Steve had a skill position, so he'd get work again. Bucky just rode the labor rotation. Did his month of road work. Did his month of docks. Did his month of window cleaning. Picked 'em all up alright and the primaries of the company always liked him well enough. Nothing stuck, though.

“I don’t care if the world ain’t fair now, it’s only gonna be if we make it,” Steve’d glared at the paper and then at Bucky, “what?”

“Nothing.” Except fuck if he wouldn’t have followed Steve out of that office. Maybe kicked over a trash can besides.)

So Steve wasn’t ever one for bringing home bread, but he was 100% behind Bucky when he’d gone charging up to the Delasso sisters for snapping their teeth at the O’Connory family. Bucky’d come home with a split lip and bloody knuckles and Steve’d been over the moon and halfway to Mars.

And the problem with a fella who wanted to finish every single fight he’d ever met, was that Steve had no real concept of...ah… hm. Scale? Look, Steve had about as much chance hitting a home run at a Dodgers game as he did in a back alley with a coupla kids and dumpsters as bases, so you know which mound Steve was gonna try for, right?

So it was just...it was just like Steve to come home with the paper about Pearl Harbor. Or well. Steve'd come home with every paper since the invasion of Poland. He'd layered them all over the table. Bucky'd stood there like a coat rack.

There didn't need to be another war. They'd just had a war. Should only be one war a century. Give the population time to bounce back. Rebuild a bit. Fewer, if people could help it. It was one thing when it'd been all crossbows and knights. It was another when you had gas burning people up from the inside out. People's feet rotting off in the mud. Folks coming back broken in the head, denning up and not coming out for nothing.

“It ain't right,” Steve'd said. Had been saying for months, looking for anything he could about the European front. “They think the last big one didn't do bad enough? But there's people starving in- Buck look, look here. They’ve got refugees saying that the government's been rounding up civilians. It’s not just an invasion it’s...look, look here, Bucky.”

Least Steve would get dowry insurance if Bucky got lost out there. Bucky put the letters side by side. Two harmless, typewritten things, thin and empty on the table.

Steve left the window, sat their clipper kit on the table. Sat down in the chair. He gestured Bucky over and shoved him down between his legs.

“You need to look presentable," Steve explained, “nobody’ll take you looking like you can’t decide if you’re coming or going.”

If only.

“You’re one to talk.”

“I know you like to preen.” Steve combed through Bucky’s hair. “Go to dance halls just to show off.”

Steve fussed Bucky’s hair back until Bucky was a quiet thing. Limp and humming, because Steve knew how to be sweet on him.

Took Hell before Steve would let Bucky love him up a little, of course. Steve’d buy Bucky a new hairbrush with a fat paycheck like he was a primary instead of dowry. Steve wasn’t too effusive with praise, but damn if Bucky ever ran out of Barbasol.

“Think they're gonna shave it off in training,” Bucky said, once Steve’d brushed his hair about as much as one could get away with. Steve tucked a towel around Bucky’s shoulders, cupped his skull and rolled his head forward. Got his hair wet and Bucky stayed still. Stayed where Steve put him.

“You wanna leave ‘em to it, then?” Steve combed his fingers through from back to front. He'd left the overgrowth to hang in Bucky’s eyes. Bucky shook it off. Steve'd just gone back again from the front. Bucky followed Steve's hand until he rested against Steve's stomach.

“We still got a few nights about town, don’t we?” Bucky shifted around and ducked his head so Steve could pull his comb through. “Show people you got yourself an army fella-”

“Shut up," Steve said.

Bucky’s scalp shivered from the sound of the scissors. There was something clean about the sound of scissors. Something almost cold about the crisp slide of metal. A bit like climbing into an ice truck when people were all down to their undershirts and sweat.

It wasn’t as dusky as the scritch of Steve’s pencil against good paper. Wasn't as sweet as the whispering crinkle of a laundered and starched shirt. Scissors were a refreshing sort of sound. Made his skin tingle from the inside out.

“Don’t think the army barber’s gonna be this gentle,” Steve said and tugged Bucky’s head up, looked down at him.

“Got to rough us up a bit first,” Bucky shrugged, cotton-headed and liquid inside. “It’s alright, had worse knocks in the labor circuit.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve mumbled, “not sure how I feel about some random breeding pair picking you because-"

"A file and a quick sniff?" Bucky fit his hand around Steve’s ankle and kissed his knee. “I'm getting in early. Means they've got more time to train me.”

Steve's hand clenched in his hair.

“I just wish.” Steve bowed down and pressed his head to the top of Bucky's. “If wishes were horses-”

“Then the streets'd be paved in shit.” Bucky rubbed his thumb over Steve's ankle. Just followed the bone around. And that had been that.

* * *

 

Plenty of veterans formed a pack and lived together after that last war. Came back full of shell shock and didn't trust anybody else. There were a few in their neighborhoods, yeah. Most of ‘em went West, apparently. Chased the sun.

Hell, that was all them Greek myths ever talked about, if you bothered to read any of it. Troops bound in a war being the truest form of love. Bible had this holy primary dragging the weary and downtrodden to salvation.ible had this holy primary dragging the weary and downtrodden to salvation.

The church said that all the prophets were in God’s pocket. God was the alpha and omega. End and the beginning: the creation of the universe and how it was gonna end. And then God sent his only son, his primary, down to earth to die for everybody’s sins. The Greatest Use, the priest used to say, the Highest Purpose. The alpha, omega and primary Holy Trinity.

Bucky, meanwhile, spent too long looking at all them tortured saints and martyrs. How could he not? With their faces all twisted with religious usefulness. Highest Purpose, the priest would say. Steve'd always been faithful in his way, yeah. He was more of a "heaven helps those that drag themselves out of the garbage bin" sort. Bucky'd looked at those martyrs and figured it was heaven who’d chuck you in the bin to start.

Monks all got themselves sequestered in isolation as part of their early vows. So maybe Bucky was doing God's work. Soldiers weren’t allowed to touch each other too much. All the bunks were slim, skinny things exactly two feet from the next bunk. Just so when you finally got assigned you were so skin hungry you just fell in line.

Bucky still went to work like normal. Even if the army sent over money, it was better to have a little gravy, right? Useful was food on the table, enough heat in the winter, and clean clothes. Steve was skilled labor, but the idiot still got sick plenty of weeks out of the year. Bucky came home like normal and he and Steve would go out. Get dinner. Like normal.

“More jobs now, I guess,” Bucky said, looking at the Help Wanted signs in shops. “Could get yourself a real cushy set-up before I come back. Might even let you take care of me, be one of those decorative auxiliaries.”

Steve didn’t say a damn word about Bucky's ugly mug like he was supposed to. Bucky looked at him.

“They send breeding pairs in together.” Steve was looking at one of the propaganda posters. They might have him drawing those next. “Two of 'em lead troops.”

“Well. If you find yourself somebody worth keeping before I ship out, maybe you can bid for me. Make sure she's hooked into the ranks." Bucky said, keeping his voice light, but Steve went tense beneath his arm anyways. Smell went bad.

Bucky thought Steve would have found just about anybody to get him into the goddamn military. Show up naked in some recruiters office on the lure. Bucky ended up following Steve around like they were fifteen again and Steve was on the brink of something that had the teachers and neighborhood bullies being a little too sweet on him all of a sudden.

(“What this, Barnes?” Eugene McMan’d huffed, thumbs in his suspenders because he’d gotten his growth spurt and gone a bit cock of the walk. “His ma pay for you to be the guard dog?”

“Buddy.” Bucky’d tucked his hands into his pockets because he hadn’t had a cigarette to light up like in the movies. “If you wanna hump Steve’s leg like one of them yippy dogs, that’s between the two of you. I just gotta do the laundry is all.”

And he and Eugene had gotten in plenty of scraps, but none of ‘em had started so good with Steve snorting laughter into the back of his hand.)

Thank Christ, Steve didn’t go get himself hitched. Instead, he helped Bucky pack up.

Even sat down and drew a portrait of himself. The only picture he had was from their group school pictures, and they didn’t much feel like paying for a photograph. But what was better than be able to show off how he dowried for a skill position?

It was funny, sorta. Steve must’ve had a million pictures of Bucky pressed in his books like leaves. And he drew Bucky with confidence, which Bucky figured came from long practice. Steve drew himself all in sketchy-fine lines.

“I’m sure your troop is gonna be real impressed by this picture of me scowling in a mirror,” Steve said around the pencil in his mouth. He'd been attacking something or other with his eraser and squinting into the mirror. “Take one look at this misshapen idiot and be pissing green with jealousy. Why you never tell me my eyes are so weird, huh?”

“Your eyes ain’t so bad, Steve. It’s your nose you gotta worry about. You gotta stick it into everyone’s dens on account of how big it is, I always figured.”

Steve jabbed him with the pencil and Bucky snapped his teeth.

“You wanna go down that route, then you ain’t ever getting your lumpy self-portrait,” Steve said, because alphas started things, sure. And betas were all about supporting that story so far as they could, but omegas? It ended when omegas took the torch, didn’t it? The whole world was a beginning, middle, and end. If Steve had found himself that alpha who smelled right to him she (since it’s Bucky’s daydream, alright? He wanted to chase after some little ones with Steve’s raincloud face.) and they all joined the army together, she might make the plans but it’d be Steve doing the on-the-fly choices that got them out alive, or all dead together. As was, the whole world was a story Steve felt the need to wrap up and send to the publishers, as it were.

While Steve worked Bucky mended. Somebody had to do it. What sort would he be if Steve was going out with holes in his socks? There weren’t a lot of things a fella could take pride in if his omega was out there with wrinkled shirts and flimsy socks. He’d knitted all of Steve’s scarves and mittens and hats himself and you know who was the warmest goddamn punk this side of the bridge? Damn right.

“You realize you’ll be getting a picture of me backward, right?” Steve gestured at the mirror.

“I’ll look at it in the mirror, then,” Bucky said. He leaned back and listened to the whisper of paper and the rustle of Steve’s shirt.

Had to secure all his buttons too, and take a look at the winter coat. Steve was a terror with a needle, never found the patience for it. Bucky was no tailor, but he could stitch an even seam and move a button over if needed. Hemmed plenty of trousers in his day.

Steve...Steve knew how to trade Mrs. Feeney to do the washing. Sometimes. On a good day.

Bucky put the needle in his mouth and tossed the sock into his finished pile. Picked up the next one.

“Want the radio on?” Steve asked, turning his face.

“I’m good." Bucky'd said, squinting at the worn-thin spot on the heel. After a coupla beats of silence, Bucky popped his head up.

"You uh... You want me to read to you?” Bucky craned his head back to look at Steve. Steve scowled at the reflection of himself and chewed at the inside of his cheek.

“Wouldn’t mind it,” Steve said. His shoulders were gonna be tight again tonight.

God'd built Steve like an upright bass: all tight cords bowed outward. His back always hurt, and Bucky'd offer to fix it, except Steve would brush him off again. Damn if Bucky knew why, getting a rub down was the best a fella could ask for. There’d been a labor rotation stretch that’d been all street work, right? He’d come home and Steve’d rubbed all the creaks out. Bucky’d liked that trend. It’d been a good trend. He’d’ve liked to go back to it, everyone being honest. Maybe if he gets leave from training Steve’ll be extra sweet on him.

Bucky got up and shuffled over to the bookshelf. “Anything in particular?”

“Nah. Just need the noise,” Steve said.

Bucky huffed but pulled his last issue of Horror Stories he’d bothered to pick up. He leaned back against Steve’s chair and flipped through for a bit. Must've been some months ago, couldn't remember any of the stories.

“This good?” He asked and Steve didn’t even look. Steve wasn’t a big one for fiction in his literature. He’d watch any movie you wanted, but he’d sit there and read just about any history you could put in front of him. Bucky, himself, liked a serial killer or flying car for a bit of spice.

But Steve kept sketching, so Bucky kept reading, head knocked back. The pipes creaked, and the upstairs neighbors clomped around like they always did, but you know? You had to carve the angel out of the marble with your own two hands. Wasn’t gonna fly out by itself. Make peace with some knitting needles and pick apart an old sweater.

He woke up sometime later, with Steve shoving him up and pushing him towards the bed.

When he was a kid, it was his parents in the middle with the baby, like normal. And all the rest of them shoved up around the outside. Spilling out onto the floor a little and curled up at the bottom.

Once he’d moved in with Steve, he’d flopped Steve in the middle and curled up around the side. All things being perfect an alpha and a secondary should’ve been on the other side. All things being perfect, maybe a coupla kids.

“Always making me climb over you,” Steve mumbled, shoving himself under the blankets. Bucky grappled him over. He grabbed Steve’s cold hands and tucked them against his stomach. Wrapped Steve’s cold feet between his legs and waited out the discomfort. Steve grumbled and stretched out the kinks of his back.

“You know how hard it is to take a piss in the middle of the night?” Steve grumbled. “That’ll be a new experience, being able to get up at night without shoving a pillow in your arms.”

Street light still spilled in from around the curtains. Noises bounced up, following the fire-escape up to their window. If Bucky listened he could hear the lives of everyone on the other side of their thin walls. The curtains puffed inwards with cook-fire smells and years old smog. What was England gonna smell like? Hell, what was Wisconsin gonna smell like?

Bucky circled his hand around the back of Steve’s neck.

Steve wasn’t the kind to start blurting out bedtime confessions. Steve wouldn’t tell him not to go anyways. Bringing home all those papers, telling anyone who’d listen how it wasn’t right. How they weren’t getting the whole story. Everyone’d said to let Europe fix Europe just like everyone’d said unions would kill modern industry. And there Steve would be, smacking his hands against the table. Saying that if a business couldn’t afford to pay their workers a living wage? Well, then that business couldn’t afford its resources and was a capitalistic failure.

 

(“Son, most auxiliaries are just one part of a support network to gain money. What would they even do with that extra money? It would invite sloth and immoral behavior if they had to work any less than they do.” The man had huffed, billowing up like a shirt on a laundry line and Steve’d had none of it. “They’d spend more time in those hedonistic clubs instead of at church.”

“The attached status of your employees doesn’t impact the quality of labor they perform. If you can’t pay an auxiliary the same wages as an independent potential then-”

“-Well if they don’t like it they can find work-” The man’d cut in.

“If you can’t-” Steve’d talked right over him. Bucky’d slipped into the booth, and nobody paid him mind. So he'd nudged the guy’s coffee so at the next gesture he knocked it over. Spilled it over himself and so had cleared off, cursing. Steve’d yelled him right out the door.)

Steve pulled one warmed-up hand from under Bucky’s shirt. Reached up and scratched the short hairs at the back of Bucky’s neck.

“I’m gonna get over there, Bucky,” Steve promised, like folks in movies promised each other the moon. “It ain’t right they’re taking you and not me.”

“Steve-”

“I could shoot a gun straight as anybody. If they want people to march they can’t protect some and send off others. If we’re a nation at war, and we’re a nation of equals then...you can’t just pick on type of person and decide they...they can...they’re-”

“Expendable?” Bucky said, because he didn’t want to hear how Steve would put it.

Steve’s fingers dug into Bucky’s skin. “No. Not. That’s how they want to put it and it’s not-”

“Right?” Bucky didn’t tighten his own hand, just breathed out the word. “You think you’re best served shooting a gun?” Bucky tucked his head down to touch the top of Steve’s and Steve let his hands drop down between them again.

When Steve didn't say anything he curled his hand over top Steve's. “Think skilled position hands are good as mine to dig trenches?”

“It ain’t right,” Steve muttered again. “I ain’t any more attached than you are. They don’t want me out there leading without an alpha, fine. Then I should be-”

“In the mud?” Bucky tilted down to talk into Steve’s hair. “That’s where you should be?”

Steve gripped the back of Bucky’s neck. “I just. Freedom is a responsibility. A country of citizens needs to stand for that. An informed citizenry can't just accept what's handed to them. That's a dictatorship. You can’t have a passive citizenry.”

“So... you belong in the mud,” Bucky repeated.

“Nobody belongs in the mud.” Steve tried to pull back.

Bucky didn’t let him go, didn’t want cold air between them.

“If you can’t say you’re a country built on equality-” Steve growled.

“Don’t try and make grand gestures about it, Rogers. This isn’t about-” Bucky shivered. More from the sudden space, but there they were. Soon all they'd have would be space.

“But it is.” Steve sat up and Bucky rolled over on his back.

“It’s not a grand gesture or...sure. A breeding pair with kids got to stay home. But what’s different between me and you, Barnes? What says that I stay home and make posters and you’re the one out there getting shelled, huh?” Steve insisted.

“Even we were both dead-ends, you think they’d take you? Flat feet? History of scarlet fever? You've got asthma so good luck carrying a pack. Heart palpitations-”

“What so I’m not good enough?” Steve sat up. “Government says I’m too good, but you think-”

“You’ve got a skilled position, Rogers.” Bucky closed his eyes. “You ain’t gotta worry about easy fatigability. You're useful where you are.. You want me to go on? Huh? Want me to give you the army treatment? Want to go out there and carry a pack bigger than you are for no damn reason?”

“The point is that if you- Everyone has to do their- It’s about being a responsible citizen. If we’re a nation at war then we need to…You can’t raise one fella above another just because he-- because...” Steve's breath caught. exactly making Bucky’s point for him. He coughed and then the coughs got thick and then dried up.

Steve took a whistling inhale, so Bucky got him turned around. Feet on the floor, and kneeled down next to him. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. You’re alright. Steve, we got medicine. Just count to seven fo me, yeah? One, two, three, that's it. Yeah. You said anything can happen for the count of seven. Six, seven.”

Bucky stumbled for the nebulizer. He'd been damn tired of doctors telling him it was all in Steve's head. If Steve could have fixed it by digging his heels in he'd be the healthiest son of a bitch on the planet. One Doctor'd called the wheezing "suppressed cries for more parental attention." Bucky'd walked them right out again.

So. Nebulizer. Electric, because the bulb kept not getting the medicine down far enough. The injectables hadn’t been so good with Steve’s heart. So this new one was a godsend. He got Steve by the back of the neck and he whistled in a few breaths. Took a lot less time to work too.

By the time Steve was breathing easier, Bucky’d crawled up behind him. Pulled Steve back against him. Bucky's dumb brain thought body heat could solve anything.

“Yeah, buddy. Three, four, five...Do me a favor. Just one favor.” Bucky nudged his nose against Steve’s chin in apology. When Steve scented at his throat he rolled his head back to let him go for it. “Just be here when I get back, yeah? Promise me that? There’s plenty of things a war needs. It’s got warm bodies, how about you make sure they aren’t skimping the pay of the folks making the equipment. Don’t want my gun jamming because the factory overworked the fellas making it.”

Steve stared at him through watery eyes, struggling to get back on an even keel.

“You think the best thing you can do for me is give me my marching orders? Think the only good you are is setting up a pup tent with me?” Bucky grabbed Steve’s cold hands and blew hot air over them, pressed them to his neck to get the blood moving. “Warm bodies gotta eat. Warm bodies gotta be in working airplanes and working tanks and fire working guns. An army marches on its stomach.”

He hung on and Steve got his breathing back, eventually. Didn’t matter how long, because it was always too long. Smell stinking sour and sweat beading cold on his neck. Steve took his hands back and pushed Bucky away, stood up and wheezed against the wall for a stretch.

Bucky went and shuffled the pack of asthma cigarettes out of the dresser. Bucky’d stopped getting them from the pharmacy, since those kept getting Steve’s heart all shaky. But a fella Bucky knew had a buddy who had a buddy.

(“None of that nightshade malarky. Won’t give your pal any problems.”

Bucky’d looked at the unmarked tin and then looked at the fella, Lindsey, who held up his hands. “My old lady’s got it so bad I gotta keep a hand on her back at night to make sure she keeps breathing. The ones at the drugstore made her sick, so I started making my own. Keeps her calm. Keeps her breathing even.”

Bucky’d dug into his pocket. “How much you need for ‘em?”

“Jonas says you’re on the level. Good kid, and you’re the dowry, huh?” Lindsey’d said, pipe clutched in his teeth.

“Yeah.” Bucky’d rubbed his neck. “Rogers staked me out early. Before uh. He got sick. Wasn’t gonna leave him.”

Lindsey’d snorted. “Jonas said your omega had the potential of six bitches in heat but the body of a little mangy runt.”

Bucky’d clutched the case and looked at Lindsey real careful. “Pal-”

“Hey, hey, easy.” Lindsey waved his hand. “He’s yours, I get it. I ain’t trying to start nothing, with you. It’s sort of...I dunno. My old lady’s got the asthma and she miscarried all her pups, and hers ran off with a mighty young thing. Primary left. Secondary left. But I stayed here. I like...well. Loyalty is a hell of thing, ain’t it?”

“Hell of a thing.” Bucky’d agreed.

“Let’s say two packs for sixty cents.” Which was three times the cost for a pack of cigarettes at the corner store, but true to his word they’d never given Steve any trouble and kept his breathing easy. Side effect was he’d get a little dreamy in the head, but some of those pharmacy ones would make you see things.

So Bucky went regular as taxes, and two days ago he’d gone over with two whole dollars and looked at Lindsey and Lindsey’d looked at him and he didn’t know how long the bag he’d taken home would last, but hopefully until his next leave.)

Steve smoked one down, held the smoke in his lungs until they calmed, sinking down against the side of the wall. They smelled musky and sweet, almost. Lindsey only ever said they had herbs packed in. Said he grew them up on his roof.

“You ever smoked one of these?” Steve said, coughing, but breathing again.

“Don’t have asthma.” Bucky said, leaning against the wall next to Steve. “No need to waste medicine.”

Steve nodded, and dropped his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Burns. But then it sort of…” He rubbed his chest. “Gotta say, the side effects aren’t so bad.”

Steve pushed the cigarette into Bucky’s mouth and it...it wasn’t at all like a normal cigarette. Burned, like Steve said and Bucky coughed it out. “What, this like ma’s giving their pups cough syrup so they’ll stop crying?”

Steve rubbed at his chest again and took the cigarette back. “Got you all riled up. Seems only right that I calm you down again.”

He got Bucky another few lungfuls and Bucky started feeling...light. His head felt light, but not...dizzy. Just like all the heavy thoughts had gotten chucked overboard.

“Huh.” Bucky said after a beat.

“Yeah.” Steve agreed.

Bucky put out the cigarette. Slung an arm over Steve’s shoulders.

“Can’t get my head around it.” Bucky said, and Steve’s hair felt good under his fingers.

“You betas and your hair fetish.” Steve mumbled. “What’s it feel like?”

“Hmm?”

“When. When you do that thing.”

“That thing?” Bucky pulled at the soft strands on the top of Steve’s head.

“That thing. The beta thing. With. The um. When I draw you get all…” Steve waved his hand around and Bucky watched the slow, drifting movement and his scalp tingled. The inside of his skull tingled.

“It’s like...you don’t feel it at all? When I…” Bucky trailed his fingers lightly over the crown of Steve’s head and Steve shrugged into his arm. “Feels like your got fingers in my hair.”

“It’s like...I don’t know.” Bucky trailled his fingers down the back of Steve’s neck. “What does...what does heat feel like?”

Steve huffed and dragged his nose up Bucky’s neck. “I don’t know.”

Bucky laughed. It wasn’t that funny, maybe, but he laughed, and Steve laughed and it shuddered through him and Steve wasn’t even laughing, right? He was giggling? Giggling like a kid, and Bucky kept nosing at his ear, like they were pups and Steve nosed him back, nipped at his throat and it was easy as anything to just flop down on his back.

Steve clambered on top of him and growled, and it was a low, stuttering thing, but it was Steve’s and that was gonna. What was it gonna be like? That was the thing. What was it gonna be like? See a hundred people a day and not see Steve and not… What was it gonna be like having thoughts all running through his head that hadn’t even smelled Steve?

“Hey, you know. You know what the weirdest thing is gonna be?” Bucky tapped Steve’s big, dumb nose.

“What?” Steve asked maybe...maybe a long time later. Maybe not. Who cared, right? Who cared.

“Hmm?” Bucky kept following the line of Steve’s nose.

“The weird thing.” Steve patted at his cheeks.

“Are you hungry?” Bucky asked, instead, dragging his fingers down Steve’s back and Steve hummed again, but neither of them figured there was food to be found, so they just….stayed.

But fuck it was gonna be weird thinking about shit that had nothing to do with Steve for the first time in a solid decade.

 

* * *

 

So...cards on the table. The night before Bucky shipped out for Basic, Steve went a little crazy.

(Duress heat is what the neat little clinic pamphlets called it. Bucky must’ve snuck in and out of every kind of doctor’s office in the city. Anything that got on a pamphlet, he read. Well, now there was a paper ration and there was nothing getting printed anymore.)

When Bucky’d joined his neighborhood's quilting circle they’d talked about somebody’s “last-ditch bitch.” (Specifically as it related to the Waters family. Jenny Waters lost her nice job as an esthetician, again, because Harold would get nervous about her leaving and keep her home. Harold Waters worried she was gonna look for greener hills. So: a little lure, everything on the mend again.)

Happened when “the stability of the pack was at risk,” according to the pamphlet. Happened more when one of the breeding partners started sniffing around other potentials. Younger ones, usually. Or if some auxiliaries started thinking they could click into a batter pack.

Wasn't as bad a normal heat, according to the pamphlets. How'd they put it? Well, it got everyone acting a little more friendly-like. Settled everyone down a little.

(That's why all the pictures of Hilter's army had them in masks. Wasn't much good invading if your army all crowded around the breeding pairs. Alexander’s army used to march with incense smoking everything else out.

Or like. Hey. Sure, you had smallpox that knocked out most of the Indian’s population. Except then, of course, if you knock a pack down, it comes back harder. Demands to increase population.

Europeans thought the disease'd done it's job. Figured it'd just take a little firepower and there'd they be: set in the New World. They'd come over to start colonies, met the Natives and well. Everyone knew what’d happened then. Whole cultural revolution thing.

Ignoring breeding pairs in a crowded city was one thing. You could ignore Lords and Ladies, sure. They had enough potential in them to keep two or three auxiliaries. Back in London, support had been overgrown and half wild. Clicking onto this or that religion and demanding proper treatment.

It was another thing when desperate auxiliaries came up against a breeding pair that could move a pack of hundreds. Language barrier was as bad as a puddle, when it came down to it.

So now you had Algonquians on fishing boats and you had the Five Nation cities up north. But the world was getting smaller every day. You could pick up a phone and talk to somebody in California, if you had the mind to. The great leaders? That sort of thing was history. Too many people in the world for anybody to be a hero, yeah? Everybody now just killed or bought off the competition until they were the best option left.

Judging from the need for soldiers, Bucky was gonna guess that the buying out option only got you so far.)

So...right. Night before he shipped out Steve last ditch bitch’d, or duressed heat’d or. Or whatever you wanted to call it. Except for how Bucky didn't notice right off. You expected the monster under your bed, right? Looked out for it, if you were a kid in bed sick and alone. You'd peek down and you'd wait for any scritch or scratch or scrabble. You expect one under a lonely bed, right? So you didn't go looking in your socks for it.

So, first of all it seemed like a normal night out. Well. Maybe more like a birthday treat. Bucky figured he deserved it. They went out for dinner at the automat like usual. Steve got Bucky the biggest plate of pot roast he'd ever seen. The potatoes took up most of the plate, sure. And there was a mess of canned green beans tossed in for some yellow-sewage color, but hey. Bucky wasn't complaining. Hot dinner cooked slow? Maybe with a little sherry mixed in for flavor? Dream come true.

Bucky ate, and the meat wasn't all that tender, but they'd made an effort. Steve watched. Wouldn’t let Bucky feed him none of his roast, potatoes or beans either. He turned the fork back with his own and his eyes were almost... hm. Feverish? Hot, anyways. He watched Bucky stuff his mouth with a massive bite and stuff it down, because hey. You never knew what might happen.

Steve had himself cup after cup of coffee. He hunched over the wooden table and cradled his mug and just. Watched. Any other circumstance Bucky might've preened. As was he hunched down and ate too, looking at the clock, and the table. At Steve, when he couldn't help himself.

Look, Bucky was alright at math. When it came to Steve’s weird heat cycles, he couldn’t put two and two together for shit. They weren’t supposed to be as bad as they were. They shouldn’t have happened around Bucky. So them coming out of season was par for the course, maybe. But wasn't something Bucky would've put money on.

Bucky finished his pot roast, only for Steve to set down a slice of raisin sour cream pie. Steve shoved off the pie twice and then Bucky growled and Steve opened his damn mouth for a bite. He closed his eyes and chewed, and it wasn't his favorite, sure. Steve was an apple pie man down to his bones, but sweets were sweets.

Raisins fat and soft and sweet gave into meringue so light it shattered in his mouth. Crust was a little dry, but hey. Nobody had the lard to spare anymore. Steve waved him off after a few bites and then sat back and watched.

Bucky ate most of the rest. Steve got himself another cup of coffee.

When they finished Steve grabbed Bucky around the hand. Bucky'd followed along. They'd gone out in the just-cool-enough night air. Plenty of other auxiliaries milling around. In little knots of four or five. Anyone with a breeding pair would be home with them.

Steve's reached into Bucky's pocket while he navel gazed. Slid out his cigarette case, fit one in his mouth and lit it with a match. He puffed it until he got the end going. Coughed a little, but didn’t get too bad.

“Here.” Steve slipped the cigarette into Bucky's mouth. Bucky inhaled on automatic, and Steve held on too long. Finally dropped his fingers when Bucky took it from him. Exhaled.

“What's the plan?” Bucky asked

“Dance hall, I figured.” Steve put his hands in his pockets. Bucky followed and they ended up at a busy floor. Plenty of long skirts and pinned hair circling about. Steve went to grab himself a drink and shoved Bucky towards the floor.

“You don't mind?” Bucky looked back.

“Got us here, didn't I?” Steve found a chair and sat down and shoved Bucky towards the pit again. “Go on.”

Well, alright then.

Bucky swung every light-footed partner he could find across the floor. None of them thought he was marching himself off to war because hey, wasn't his omega right up there? Didn't he smell like a primary? Maybe like one on the hunt for a new subordinate, someone with a bit of flash. Maybe...but.

It was a nice dream, and what did it hurt? No broken hearts on the floor. Got a few powdered noses under his jaw. A few lipstick prints on the inside of his wrist. Few scraps of whiskers against his cheek.

“He must love to watch you dance.” His last partner noted, brushing her curls from her face. “Hasn't taken his eyes off you once.”

And there Steve was up at the bar, looking at Bucky.

“He's trying to spoil me.” Bucky kissed her knuckles. “Can't stand dancing, himself.”

“Alphas and omegas got their own dance. Messier.” She wrinkled her nose and smoothed his shirt down. “Ours is a little more fun, huh?”

“You got it in one, doll.” Bucky let go of her hand. She'd gone back to her friends, the five of them shuffling about all sweat-clean shirts. Dancing shoes all shined up. If he'd known he would have dressed up better. But this was alright, the way Steve was staring at him. Might as well have been the only fella in the city.

Steve beckoned him back over. Steve held a glass to his lips when he got up there. Stools were high so Bucky just had to lean back against the bar a little to take the drink. It was two fingers of whiskey burning down his throat and shivering back up again. Bucky wasn't too particular on alcohol. Waste of money for the most of it. But if Steve wanted him a little drunk, then hey. Bucky could oblige.

“Gimme your hands.” Steve said. And he pulled out a handkerchief to clean off the bright lipstick smears. He took Bucky's clean hands and wrapped them around his neck. Bucky's fingers twitched against Steve's skin, let the sweat soak in. And what was he supposed to do about that? Nothing helpful, so he let his head knock down against Steve's.

Nobody here thought he was the government's to move around. Everyone here saw a fella that belonged and wouldn't get sent off for anything. Maybe their alpha was away on business. Maybe they were at home and Bucky'd done something special. A lie, but a sweet one.

Steve pulled him down rubbed their cheeks together. Marked him right there, in front of God and the bar and everybody. Favored, that said. Primary, it said. Bucky shivered, but tried to keep a smile on. Wouldn't do to look at your best pal like he was all the damn stars in the sky. Wouldn't do to lose it tomorrow.

“You wanna head out?” Bucky asked. Steve shook his head, shoved him back to the floor and well. If Bucky wasn't just at the top of every dance card then.

Songs played. He danced them fast. Danced them slow. He nuzzled at a few victory curls, because it was fun. The army was gonna scrub him out and hang him to dry soon enough. He might as well have some sweet lies until then.

Everyone smelled so good. Clean sweat and sharp sawdust. Heels clicked on the floor. Skirts swirled against his knees, soft hands knit into his hair. Every few songs he'd look up and Steve would wave him back over. Give him another drink.

"Buddy, keep this up and I won't know my way back home." Bucky'd mumbled, pressing in close for Steve. And maybe he smelled especially sweet because he wasn't anybody else’s.

"I'll get you there." Steve said, fixed Bucky's hair up for him, because he was a stand-up guy. One in a million. If there was a thing as forever, then Steve Roger was it. Didn't have to make sense, just had to be true. And if you had to build lies on a little truth, then that'd be it.

"Here, let me wipe the slate." Steve said and cleaned off the lipstick. Bucky nuzzled into his neck, warm and airy inside. Drifting around in his own head. He wasn't much good for dancing the fast songs. Wouldn't have minded going home, provided Bucky's head ended up in Steve's lap. Steve could read if he wanted, Bucky wasn't fussed.

Quarter to one the place'd thinned out. People headed back home in tight little knots. Steve must've spent his whole paycheck on liquor and fed it all to Bucky. And Bucky'd tilted his head back as sweet as you liked. Was the picture perfect primary. When it came to Steve, Bucky was all silver-screen-Vaseline-lens-sweeping-orchestral-music. A sap. He was a goddamn sap.

Every time he took a breather, there Steve was with a drink. There Steve fingers were fixing his hair, his shirt collar, his buttons. There Steve's scent was, all over everything, shot through with sawdust. Marked wasn't even the word. Drenched him in scent. Bucky could have gone anywhere and people would've known he had someone to go home to. That he was useful enough to be the favorite.

“Hey, you alright?” Bucky muttered. He leaned hard on Steve, but kept himself on the outside. Always kept Steve tucked in under his arm, away from the curb. But the world dipped under his feet and his stomach was warm. And Steve smelled good. Smelled sweet and musky and good.

“How many sheets to the wind are you?” Steve asked.

“Dunno.” Bucky nuzzled at Steve's hairline. “How many drinks did you give me?”

“Lost count.” Steve was too short to use as a crutch, but Bucky could take his own weight. He could be that useful at least. Cold air was drying him out a little, and he scented at Steve's throat. Sweet and crisp and smoky from the bar. Musky from the...from the… Bucky took a taste, savoring it a moment.

“Steve, hey. Buddy. You kinda...you’re a little….” Bucky nuzzled in a little close. Steve propped Bucky against the door and rustled for his keys. "Hey, we're home."

"Told you I'd get you back." Steve half-smiled.

“No, hey I can-” Bucky reached for his keys, 'cause he always got the door for Steve. Steve hushed him. Bucky looked around the hallway and then followed Steve back into their room. Smelled good. Smelled right. Bucky drifted through the door, checking to make sure nobody'd been inside. Had to. Had to keep everything safe. Nice safe space for Steve.

Steve stood there, hands in his coat pockets.

“S'good. We're good.” Bucky mumbled and went back over to Steve, helped him with his coat. Steve even let him. Bucky hung it up and then got his own off. Shame that he and Steve were different sizes, since it meant Steve couldn’t use any of his extra clothes. Maybe for patchwork, save how Bucky did all the mending.

“Hey, you remember how to reattach a button?” Bucky stared at his jacket. Army would give him a jacket. Maybe Steve could sell it.

Steve hauled Bucky back and shoved Bucky up against the wall. The world spun under his feet, but that was fine. Steve was snuffling his neck, his chest, his stomach. Bucky let the wall hold him and lifted his feet when Steve got him out of his shoes.

“Don’t stand there like a lump. Come on.” Steve ordered. Bucky was too warm and soft to sass back about Steve bossin’ him. Steve got pushy and Bucky pushed back and that’s how it’d always worked. But he was. The lie was too sweet, why not eat the whole thing?

Bucky slid his thumbs under his suspenders and let them drop. Undid his tie knot, taking it off and then holding on. “Hey, I could put those away-”

Steve took the tie and threw it to the side. So Bucky started undoing his shirt buttons. He stepped out of his trousers and socks and sock garters. Steve tugged his shirt off, so Bucky pulled the undershirt over his head by the neck, because he was an agreeable guy like that. Maybe the clothes smelled too much like strangers.

“So you’re naked and I’m naked. Now what?” Bucky rubbed at his eyes. “You ever wish- I mean that I was...” Bucky dropped his hand and waved it down himself. Maybe life would be easier if he’d been. Well. You know.

“Do I ever wish you’d think before you opened your mouth, sure, yeah, but then what’d I laugh at?” Steve grabbed him by the wrist with the sort of intent that kinda implied he’d rather have Bucky by the back of the neck. “Funny pages ain’t half the riot you are, some days.”

“What can I say?” Bucky shrugged as Steve tugged and shoved him onto the bed. “I’m here to entertain.”

Bucky went. Fell down and then got up on his elbows when Steve didn’t follow him down. Steve was still just...and the smell was getting stronger. Bucky didn’t smell all that safe, was all. Smelled like a dozen different unattached auxiliaries. Smelled like cigarette smoke, liquor and sweat.

But Steve, yeah? Steve didn’t even care. Steve climbed up on top of him and buried his face against Bucky’s neck and inhaled. So, well. Just made sense to pushed his nose to Steve’s shoulder and yeah. Steve's scent was a rich, thick thing and...and sweet. Not like a pastry sweet, exactly, not… incense maybe? Alexander’s army all marching on a new city?

Floral, woodsy and sweet. Could pull potentials in from blocks away and here they were. Just them two.

Steve laid himself on top of Bucky. Rested his cold feet between Bucky’s knees and dragged his cold hands up Bucky’s arms and gripped Bucky’s wrists.

Bucky tilted his head back and Steve breathed against his throat, the wet press of teeth sliding down the side. Bucky licked his lips. “Maybe’ll this year’ll be better for you. If I’m not-”

“Don’t spin that bullshit again with me.” Steve snapped his teeth and Bucky’s body went loose without even asking him.

"I should be there. I should. You should be my par— my primary.” Steve shook his head, hair already floppy with sweat and fuck. Fuck no. Bucky couldn't...Steve couldn't do this tonight, not if Bucky had to leave. Not if it'd make Steve scratch at the walls and if Bucky couldn’t…

“You’re not gonna go get yourself...just to-” Bucky began, then shut his mouth when Steve’s hand came down to cover it. Steve pressed too hard, gripped his fingers around Bucky’s mouth and Bucky was too drunk and too tired and too…

Bucky turned his check to press against Steve’s head and stayed where Steve put him.

Steve stayed there for a bit. Rubbed his cheek against Bucky’s throat. Dragged it down his chest and Bucky gripped onto the headboard. He’d seen plenty of Steve flushed and desperate to get bred during his heat. Plenty of Steve thinking Bucky’d be the one to do it. Couldn’t do it tonight. Not if he was getting on a train tomorrow.

“You think I’m gonna let you get on that train without… You think I’ll just let people think you’re just some…” Steve growled low and dragged his nails across Bucky’s sides, sitting up and-

“Are you...You think I’m gonna step out on you?” Bucky laughed and Steve clamped his teeth down on Bucky’s arm. Not a bit playful. Bucky yelped and went still, heart double-timing in his chest. “Not like I’ve got a choice about-”

“You don’t got a choice about it.” Steve wasn’t fogging up the room, but Bucky could still barely breathe. His lungs felt thick with it, hot as smoke.

Steve rubbed his wrists over Bucky’s arms. With all of Steve’s sweat it’s a new cologne, left to dry down on its own and Bucky closed his eyes. Sure, if he can soak this in, why not? This isn’t...nobody treats their primary like this. A bit of affectionate scent-claiming, but not this...this… Bucky’s seen a damn lot of pictures showing the consequences of martyrdom. And. And any thought following on that one would be sacrilegious.

Can’t get his thoughts in order enough anyways.

“You’re going to let them have you. But you are going to be their primary.” Steve found a new spot of skin and bit again. “You gonna walk in starting damn special and stay damn special.”

“Steve-” Bucky tried again and got shut up, again.

Bucky was gonna stink up that entire train. He was gonna have to sit there know every single person thought a lie about him. Bucky told himself a lot of stories, but here Steve was deciding to turn that inside out. Let everyone in the universe wear the lie except for Bucky.

“You have to do it. You have to. You gotta do it, you need to be someone else’s primary because you need to stay alive.” Steve bit again, and pushed scent into Bucky’s skin and he was rubbing his dick against Bucky’s leg. “You don’t belong in the mud.”

“Everybody belongs in the mud.” Bucky kept his hands tight on the headboard, because it was the last still thing left on the planet. Or. Well. The whole planet was moving and Bucky was a coupla miles off from it.

“You are gonna go there, and you’re gonna smell like me.” Steve said, eyes glittering in the dark and Bucky’s mouth dropped open so he could smell better. “You’re going to smell so claimed and so…”

Steve turned his head and clamped down on Bucky’s arm again. It didn’t hurt, exactly. Not like when he and his siblings play-fought and somebody would yelp when it got too rough. So long as he was lying still and doing what he was told, wasn’t a bad hurt. He could do this. He kept his hands gripped tight and his mouth a little open and his body stayed loose.

Steve didn’t take his hand away.

“And they won’t be able to help noticing you, I figure. And if they notice you, then all you gotta do is show ‘em you're useful, yeah? And they’ll. They won’t be able to help themselves.” Steve swore. If the army got wind (and they would) that a prized auxiliary was getting sent in, they’d figure: well hey. He must be something damn special. And all eyes would be on him.

(Except Bucky wasn’t so much for thinking being special kept you safe.

But heaven helped those who helped themselves, and shook their heads at folks who went against Steve Roger’s Master Plan For The Universe.)

Steve kept thrusting his hips and Bucky didn’t know whether or not to help, or stay put or what.

“What if I ain’t special, huh?” Bucky mumbled, “what’s your big plan, then?”

“Gotta meet me halfway.” Steve dragged his cheek down, rubbed his sweat into Bucky’s skin and that was. Bucky didn’t know what that was. Paired breeders didn’t...didn’t mark this much. This was an alpha with their first toy, spitting between their baby teeth that it was theirs. “You trust me?”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, “suppose I do.”

Steve licked his lips, hips twitched forward and Bucky looked down. “You know, I’ve uh. I’ve gotten pretty good at taking care of that.”

Steve...hungry was maybe the wrong word. But it was close as Bucky could figure. Eyes all dark and mouth open just a little bit. Scenting.

“You stay put.” Steve said, bossy as all get-out and Bucky didn’t have that same kinda hunger in him, maybe. Wasn’t built for it. But the sheets rustled, and Steve’s smell was burying them alive and hey. He ain’t got an itch, but the scratching felt good anyways, so long as it didn’t go on forever. “Just...just for right now. I can’t help what happens to you tomorrow, but-”

“It’ll be-”

And Steve bit so hard Bucky almost let go. He almost wailed and he almost- but that sort of thing ran deep, you know? Steve had to be happy and he wasn’t so if Bucky could make him a little bit more sunshine than raincloud by suffering then hey. Suffering weren’t the worse thing that could happen to a fella. Suffering was your only friend some days. It was one of them constants in life. You went to church and everyone suffered. You went to work and everyone was suffering there. Got a whole mess of suffering happening overseas. Only place happy in the world was in advertisements, far as Bucky can tell. A bruise? Nothing. Happy to help.

Bucky kissed at Steve’s mouth. Steve didn’t like too many of the normal polite gestures. Didn’t like Bucky sniffing at his neck and licking at his mouth and bowing his head or nothing. Steve was...Steve was a raincloud, sure. But you’d take a thunderstorm if the other option was a dust bowl.

Steve clamped his teeth down and he wouldn’t draw blood. Ain’t got the eye teeth for it. His hips moved and then he spilled all over Bucky. He wasn’t just gonna make the whole car reek, that entire train is gonna smell up-down like Steve’s crazy.

“What am I gonna be so good at that’ll make up for this?” Bucky muttered as Steve went all soft and cozy around him, pressing scent in like...well. Who needed fancy metaphors when the whole room smelled like that.

Steve kept on soft-nuzzling like Bucky was sick or something, and pulled his hands down. “You’ll figure it out.”

Bucky got all of Steve’s cold limbs in check and got them under the blankets. Steve didn’t have a resurgence or anything, stayed calm. Stayed quiet.


End file.
